The ivory of your heart
by Semixtina
Summary: Everything starts when Santana is asked to babysit Rachel; long before her dreams of becoming a pianist come true, long before she gets the life she had always wished, long before her love evolves and matures, and turns into theirs.
1. Chapter 1

"Don't stand there, Santana! Come in!" Leroy Berry excitedly said, the crinkles around his soft brown eyes accentuating at the sight of the young girl, his gesture just as inviting as the first time the teenager had seen him. Shuffling her feet slightly awkwardly, Santana smiled timidly at him with her hands deep in her jean pockets and complied, her steps short and a bit unsure, undoubtedly still trying to assimilate and asses her situation.

Well, there was nothing to assimilate really. Her parents had met the Berries almost two months ago when the men had moved from California to Lima – family reasons, she remembered – with their daughter, a girl she had yet to meet.

Her parents had decided that it would be a wonderful idea to plan a couple's night and, of course, _why not _invite the lovely gay men they had yet to learn the middle name of.

Surveying the cozy entrance with a mix of amazement and shyness so uncharacteristic in her – because, was it normal for a XXI century suburban house to have _so _much wood? –, the teenager followed the extremely tall man into another room, this one obviously more used and adapted to a normal family's everyday necessities. The perfect living room apart from hers, if you asked Santana. A small pile of worn books sat teasingly at the edge of a small coffee table, just in front of the biggest, most fluffy orange couch the girl had ever seen in her fifteen years of life.

Santana loved that kind of stuff, but like most girls her age she pretended to be too old to do so, or too mature to even stand it. She smiled lightly at the thought of touching the smooth, fuzzy surface with her bare hands, feeling the little hairs tickling her palm until a shiver ran up her arm and to her nose. It was one of the weird and unpronounced things she liked the most.

Lifting her gaze, her mind went into overdrive for a minute when she saw the – _Oh my God. Oh my God – _family piano. It rested in a corner, seemingly isolated from the life and colorfulness present in the rest of the, still somewhat rustic living room. Its polished surface, black and smooth, looking untouched for the most part shone due to the bright yellow and lime lamp hanging above the girl, casting its silhouette against the opposite wall.

Nearing it and ignoring completely the man standing in the doorway, Santana let her jaw hang open.

It was a _Bosendorfer_.

A Bosendorfer there, right in front of her young, disbelieving eyes. She hadn't expected to see one of those until she was at least thirty two years old, with a powerful career behind her and enough money to afford the White House.

Her hands itched to touch, but her eyes were content to roam freely over the thick legs of the instrument; admiring its wonderfully shiny cover propelled up by the lid prop; watching and imagining enthralled how pressing one of her fingers against one of the ivory keys would feel, how it would _sound._

Wonderfully, no doubt about that.

It was only when she felt a huge hand closing gently against her right shoulder that she came back to her senses, her tan cheeks turning rosy – even when she believed such thing to not be possible, but still – and her bottom lip catching between her pearly teeth.

It was truly embarrassing, to have lost so much control while she was still trying to make a good impression on her new neighbors. She felt like covering her face with her hands, and maybe drying the drool she was sure was pooling at the corner of her mouth.

She had no time to do such thing as Leroy squeezed her shoulder compassionately one last time before he let her go, smiling broadly when he heard tiny footsteps and more heavy ones moving towards the staircase on the floor above them.

"Look who is finally coming! I already thought you had ditched me" scolded playfully the big man, his eyes sparkling with affection when a tiny brunette girl flied down the stairs, only stopping when the man's legs got in her way to the living room. Santana watched curiously as the girl hugged the man's waist, her tiny face smooched against his stomach while one of his big hands messed up her hair. The girl did not seem fazed in the slightest as she pulled her face away from Leroy and turned her whole body – not saying much, really – to Santana.

"Hello! I believe your name is Santana Lopez?" asked the tiny brunette, catching the teenager completely off guard. She didn't think she was that poised – kind of – when meeting somebody. In that moment, her tense entrance in the Berry house downed on her, making her cheeks turn a light red color – again, fairly improbable. The girl's eyes were sparkling in excitement, no doubt expecting the most wonderful things to come out of Santana's hands, but at the same time she held a maturity in her pose, her polite features, that the Hispanic teen didn't think was possible in a ten year old girl.

"Yes, that would be correct. And yours, young lady?" Answered Santana. Of course she knew the girl's name – Rachel was a common name, hardly difficult to keep in mind –, and of course it was unusual for her to humor anyone, let alone a kid; but if she was going to be responsible for that tiny ball of movement, she might as well try to start on good terms. Besides, the child did not look _completely_ wild. It was kind of nice to be on the receiving end of such an interesting little person.

"Rachel. Rachel Berry. My middle name would be Barbra, in case you were wondering." The petite girl smiled cheekily, obviously proud of the dumbstruck expression present in the pretty girl's face, because _she _had put it there. She nodded a little to herself, and turned swiftly before running towards the living room a couple feet away, making her horrendous skirt float around her tiny waist and putting her _Hello Kitty _underwear on display.

Santana's most recurrent thought in that moment was one clearly repeated "_What the fuck_" over and over inside her head. Obviously they fed that kid with rainbows and cocaine. She had no time to prepare mentally for what awaited for her that_ surely eventful _night – Oh, she couldn't wait to tell Brittany and Quinn about the crazy gay family that lived two houses away – when she was tackled by a short, bald man who had just descended the stairs.

"Santana! Oh sweetie, your hair is so beautiful and shiny! You'll have to tell Rachel what shampoo you use, I'm sure that by the end of the night she will have asked at least twice" babbled the tiny man, his pronounced nose and tendency to speak in a _special _way making it clear which one of the two men the little brunette resembled the most.

Realizing that she had been standing awkwardly in the hallway for almost a straight minute, Santana looked nervously around, trying to find a way to escape the suffocating aura that had settled mysteriously around her while the two men talked about 'etiquette' and 'too much grey' a few feet away. Sighing inwardly at the mental image of Quinn laughing at her for the ridiculous situation she had been thrust into by her parents, the girl decided to risk it and actually try to do something _productive _for the first time since she arrived at the house.

"Eh, Mr. and… Mr. Berry?" She asked somewhat timidly, her feet moving until she was standing by the living room door and she could hear the soft sounds of humming coming from inside. Santana smiled when the couple's eyes fell on her, her mind reeling to find the right thing to say to the parents of the little girl she was about to take care of for an indefinite amount of time. "You should leave know, it's almost" she looked at her watch for a moment and turned her arm away almost instantly, frowning when she realized that she hadn't assimilated the hour she had seen in her nervous state,"…time for you to leave."

She silently thanked whoever was watching her when the Berry men shared a small smile and she felt Hiram pat her shoulder softly, before he ushered her into the kitchen for a cell numbers' revision.

"Here," he pointed to the fridge, where a number of post-its and random papers supported by extravagant magnets contrasted strangely with the silver color of the fridge door, "are mine and Leroy's numbers. Do not hesitate to call us if something happens." He seemed completely serious, and Santana didn't know if she should contain her laughter for a bit longer until she couldn't be judged and frowned upon, or if she could just start doubling over in laughter right then and there, because she would be _damned _if an emergency happened and she didn't call her parents before she looked for Hiram's phone number in the mess of pink papers stuck to the fridge.

A few formalities and hugs later and both men were gone, leaving Santana sitting in the orange couch with tense knees and an attentive pair of brown eyes looking at her. Quinn made an appearance in her head again, this time laughing about how she let herself be intimidated by a ten year old hyperactive ball of hair and skin who didn't reach Santana's boob.

Where were TVs when they were really needed.

"Santana?" the small girl's tentative voice came from the other side of the couch, and the Latina felt strange enough to actually try to be nice to the brunette.

"Yes?" She asked in a high voice, not trying to coax the girl into a faux sense of familiarity they were not even close to yet, but letting a childish inflection tint the word. Rachel actually stared at her as if the one talking to a freaking ten year old were herself and not Santana. After a few seconds, Rachel's face brightened considerably as she shot up from her position at the sofa, instead moving towards Santana until she was standing in front of her.

"My dads always say that, for a situation to be relaxed and nice between two people, one should always be acquaintance with the other person."

What.

_What._

"So, is it okay if I hug you now?"

Seriously. What. The. _Hell._

That kid was more articulate than most of the people her age - and _older -_she knew.

What could she say to that, anyway? So, instead of paying attention to Quinn's laughter inside her head, Santana reluctantly opened her legs until there was enough space for the tiny body in front of hers to fit, and managing a sincere smile, she tugged on little arms covered in argyle until Rachel's head was squished against Santana's neck. Her tiny arms had encircled that same neck, relishing on the feeling of someone being so close to her. Someone _other _than her dearest fathers. She wasn't stupid, she knew what the problem was, why everyone at school and on the street made fun of her; avoided her; why this was the first time in over three months that someone other than her fathers hugged her, let her feel them this way, intimately and respectful all the same. Why couldn't everyone be like Santana, pretty and nice?

Finally pulling back from the embrace, the small girl smiled timidly for what seemed like the first time to Santana – and it probably was –, and took the older girl by the hand, gently tugging at it until Santana got up from the couch and trailed behind the little girl and to the- oh _no._

The _piano._

In that moment, Santana swore that she could feel her future – her _heart_ – in that child's hands.

* * *

**A/N: So, I'm sorry for not updating my other stories, I'm sure you must hate me right now, but I felt like this needed to be done. They will be updated, inspiration strucks when I less expect it. **

**I hope you like it, K. Now it's you turn ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee.**

**For the record: last chapter Santana was 15 and Rachel 10/11; now there's been a time gap and Santana's 18 and Rachel 13. Both of them are in High School for this installment.**

* * *

Santana felt the familiar sting of tears at the back of her eyes as she doubled over in laughter, the action almost causing her to bang her forehead with a random guy's standing right in front of her. Gasping for air in the smoke filled club, she felt her front left pocket start vibrating, pulling her slightly out of her laughter infused haze.

It was a Friday night, and the girl had decided to go out with her friends, like _normal _people her age. She was tired of always staying home, re-reading music sheet and composing new songs with the help of her electronic keyboard while Puck and Quinn and Brittany and _everyone _else she knew went out to have fun. Sometimes she felt a little bit isolated from her own reality. She was a senior now, after all, and she didn't want to remember that year as the one she used to stay by herself all day long.

Nudging Brittany's arm a little and pointing to her phone to let her know that she was going outside, the Latina made good use of her elbows and shoulders, and within fifteen seconds she was already at the entrance of the crowded club, the loud bass thumping heavily behind her. Suddenly regretting her lack of a jacket in the chill eleven p.m. air, Santana read the ID flashing in front of her eyes, and every thought about the cold weather left her mind.

"Rach?"

A sniffle.

"San? I…where are you?" Santana didn't respond, instead she moved farther from the club's entrance, her free hand curling around her left ear to dim the noise behind her, trying to hear Rachel's voice. A call that late couldn't be a good signal.

"I'm with Quinn and Britts. Are you home? Are you ok?" More sniffles. Oh fuck. "You hear me? Rachel?" Repeated the Latina, this time a little bit louder, but no answer came from the other end. When she turned her body to the club's entrance ready to grab her jacket and tell Brittany that she was going home, slight rustling resonated from Rachel's end of the phone before the girl spoke once again.

"Come here?"

"I'm on my way."

* * *

Santana cursed under her breath when one of her heels got stuck in a small crack in the pavement just in front of the Berry's house. She was used to being there, living just two houses down the street and having visited the family more times than she cared to count. She had seen that damn crack more than one time – she was pretty sure Rachel had a _name_ for it, too –, but her usual lack of fancy shoes had always made that small obstacle inexistent. Until now.

Shaking her leg violently, the girl let out a sigh of relief when finally the damn heel got unstuck, and stumbling for just a couple of seconds she was able to cross the mostly deserted road, until she arrived to the big oak front door. Looking around nervously just by force of habit – her mind was too caught up with Rachel to pay the most minimum attention to her surroundings –, she extended her arm upwards as far as it would go, not having to get in her tippy toes this time, until she reached the key strategically placed on top of the little birdhouse that was there for _emergencies_, as the Berry men said. Total bullshit. That key had the name _Santana_ practically carved on it.

Opening the door and closing it almost as carelessly as she would have closed her own, the Latina threw the key to the tiny basket placed by the door and ran upstairs as quickly as her heels allowed. She wasn't even all the way upstairs when a tiny body appeared at the end of the hall, running towards her. Stepping forward, Santana had enough time to fully open her arms before the small frame collapsed against her, small shoulders shaking violently with each sob that racked the brunette's body.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay, I'm here, sweetie." Murmured the older girl, enclosing her arms around the tiny teenager in front of her until she felt her relax a little. Squeezing the petite body in her arms, the Latina started moving them backwards a little, just to stop abruptly and press her hands to the back of Rachel's thighs, effectively making the girl encircle her waist with her legs immediately as she lifted her almost effortlessly. It had become a practiced habit through the years. Moving them to the last room of the hallway, Santana entered the bright yellow, Barbie style bedroom and walked up to the bed, eyeing that nothing was resting on the covers before she laid Rachel gently on the mattress. She thanked God for the exercise room her parents had constructed in their basement a few years ago, fairly sure that hadn't she been so physically fit, she would have collapsed right on top of the petite brunette.

Shushing her when the girl whimpered as she moved away, the teenager walked to the door and closed it, doing the same with the window's blinds, leaving the room in a soft darkness that she knew would help the brunette in that moment. Once she arranged everything as a no-distressed Rachel Berry would have, she turned her body back to the disgustingly pink and fluffy bed, her heart almost sinking to her feet at the sight of her little ball of cheerfulness, usually so bright and alive, trying to disappear beneath the mattress; to make herself invisible, inexistent in the barely there light. Two seconds later the Latina was already on the bed, trying not to disturb the crying girl too much even though that was the initial desire – to _disturb _her with her presence, to make her forget about everything that had gone badly that day. Speaking of.

Settling just behind the tiny frame, Santana sneaked her right arm between Rachel's and her petite torso, hugging her fiercely to her as the girl burrowed even tighter into herself, allowing the strongest frame to curl around her in a protective embrace they had perfected over the years. The older girl's nose buried itself in brown locks, waiting patiently for Rachel to relax a little as she always did, her hiccups and the shaking of her shoulders decreasing with each passing minute.

When finally she felt the girl in her arms' breathing even a little, she moved the hand pressed against her stomach down until she reached the end of her Disney pajamas top, just to push her hand under the comfortable garment and press her spread hand against Rachel's tummy, as she knew she liked. Starting to stroke slowly, with measured movements, Santana noted with relief that the smaller girl's muscles were almost completely relaxed, a big change to the mess she had been a few minutes prior.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Santana broke the silence, keeping her tone reassuring and soothing, waiting patiently until a jerky shake of head answered her question. "You don't?" Again a shake of the head. Smiling sadly to herself, Santana stopped her hand's motions and waited for a few seconds until a low gruff was heard coming from the bundle in her arms. "And now?" Teased the teenager, her hand pressed firmly against Rachel's stomach as she tried not to let the other girl know how much she wanted to continue the movement. Rachel for her part was only able to stand the quietness for a few more seconds before a whine escaped her lips and she grabbed Santana's hand under her shirt, squeezing it punishingly until she felt the fingers beneath hers start stirring to life again. The taller girl felt the body she was surrounding take a deep, shaky breath before Rachel spoke up.

"It was in my ballet lesson," murmured the petite girl, her voice small and forced to Santana's ears.

"What happened there, sweetie?" Prodded gently the raven haired girl, her hand unrelenting against Rachel while her breath tickled the back of her neck, starting to make the skin there sticky. She knew all the prejudices and rumors that had been circulating between Lima's inhabitants for years about the girl in her arms and her _peculiar_ family – she had hated every single one of them – and she knew firsthand how much of an effect they had on her. Closing her eyes in preparation of what would come, the girl held her breath. If Rachel felt her body stilling, she didn't show it.

"There are these two girls-" "The two blondes?" A pause. "Yes. Sarah and Delilah." Santana snorted at that. _Delilah? _

"We were doing our plies, and when I finished Ms. Dawson said that mine had been the best." Despite what Santana knew was coming, she couldn't help the bubble of pride that swelled in her chest at Rachel's words. For her, she was _always_ the best. Tightening her arm around the smaller girl to show her appreciation, Santana nudged the back of her neck with her nose, encouraging her to continue. She had grown accustomed to this kind of thing through the years; to Rachel relying on her every time things came crashing down on her; asphyxiating her under the weight until Santana appeared like a knight in shiny armor and saved her. It was their dynamic and Santana wished with all her heart that things were different, easier somehow for her tiny Rachel; but at the same time a little part of her thanked everyday whoever had allowed her to take care of such a precious thing. Squeezing the bundle in her arms tightly, the raven haired girl stopped her hurricane of thoughts when Rachel continued speaking.

"From that point, they started saying things; I didn't like them." Santana pressed her hand more firmly against Rachel, her palm brushing against terse skin and prominent ribs as she clenched her teeth. She knew that was coming, she had _expected _much worse things, but that didn't mean she didn't feel like maiming those stuck up fourteen year olds who though that it was _okay _to bully a defenseless girl. "I didn't pay them any attention; they don't bother me that much anymore," continued the petite brunette, the resignation in her voice making Santana's stomach churn in repulsion and unreasonable guilt. She didn't realize that her hand's motions had stopped until Rachel squeezed her wrist gently; a gesture that meant more than it was supposed to.

"But they said…something," the Latina opened her eyes, her body bristling in anticipation at whatever would come out of the girl's mouth. That tone was no good at all. Approximately a minute passed without any of the girls speaking, and Santana was beyond worried. What had happened? What had those pre-Barbie little bitches said?

"Rachel?" Nudged Santana gently, not receiving a response. Alarmed, she moved her hand away from her soothing massage and extracted it out of Rachel's shirt, using it for leverage as she straightened herself over the brunette's side.

Rachel had started crying again, her silent tears burning Santana's retinas. In barely two seconds the Hispanic girl had turned the brunette on her other side so that she they were facing each other, her arms surrounding her shaking body fiercely. The pianist wanna-be held the petite girl's head against her shoulder, the sting of tears present in her own eyes. Every thought of dismembering little twigs vanished from her mind as a painful sob ripped from Rachel's throat and directly into Santana's skin, now wet and salty with tears.

"T-they said-" tried to speak the smaller girl, but her chest was heaving too much and her sobs were taking too much energy to be able to utter any proper sentence. Santana for her part just shushed her, the hand on her back caressing over the pajama's top, much like she had been doing previously to her stomach. "Shh honey. Breathe with me. Breathe. Just relax, you can tell me later." Of course she fucking wanted to know right then and there, but Rachel has started wheezing a little, and she was beginning to feel overwhelmed by how much pain she was in just by watching Rachel suffer like that. She hadn't felt more helpless in her life than in that moment, with Rachel crying in her arms and without any clue on what to do.

A few minutes passed before the smaller girl's body stopped shaking, as well as her tears, and Santana finally loosened her hold on the girl, her arms curling instantly around her head and shoulders. Shuffling both their bodies, the taller teenager moved her bicep under Rachel's cheek until they were laying nose to nose, their legs tangled and Santana's hand covering the Jewish girl's exposed cheek. They basked in that moment of relax for a while, closed eyed and in general contact until a hot breath swiped across Santana's lips and lower cheeks. Opening her eyes, she was met with Rachel's red rimmed orbs, desperation and pain filling them almost completely. The brunette had opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Santana just stared back and waited, patiently tracing patterns on the girl's uncovered lower back until Rachel's lips separated again.

"They said things…about you." Oh. Well, Santana hadn't been expecting that. She had thought about some especially nasty comments she had previously heard about the Berry man; some kind of jab against the petite singer's nose, but not anything concerning _her_. Confusion shone in her eyes almost immediately, not understanding why the petite brunette had gotten so worked up over some second handed insults thrown by two pre-adolescents.

As if her eyes showed everything she had been thinking, Rachel looked away suddenly embarrassed. Did that even make any sense? That she had gone home crying over two stupid girls' jabs at Santana and her Latin roots, her maybe doubtful relationship with Quinn Fabray? That she had spent two hours crying nonstop over the fact that she hadn't been able to stand up for _her _Santana? But she was always so good to her, so protective. Santana was her main pillar; her rock. She couldn't even remember the amount of times she and Santana had seen themselves in this very situation, with Rachel crying her eyes out while her friend, her _protector _consoled her. She had just wanted to be the strong one for once, _damn it! _Why couldn't that have gone right?

Breathing deeply, Rachel's eyes met Santana's for a moment and moved away instantly, only to look back a few seconds later. The magnet in Santana's eyes was as strong as ever; she felt herself being sucked in for a moment before an unexpected heaviness weighted her eyelids down. Blinking a few times to collect herself, the petite girl raised one hand and positioned it over Santana's on her cheek, caressing the top of it with the tips of her small, slender fingers.

"I wanted to be strong," murmured Rachel, her eyelids dropping in exhaustion instead of sorrow for the first time in hours, "for _you_."

Santana saw her trying to fight away the sudden sleepiness that came crashing over her, so she tilted her head upwards a little, just to place a gentle kiss on the tip of Rachel's nose as her eyelids fell closed.

"I love you, Rach."


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee**

**In this chapter, the girls have the same age they had in the last installment (18 and 13).**

* * *

The theatre was filled with the soft buzzing of voices among the spectators; people arriving and already sitting not wanting to miss even a second of the magnificence that would be present in a few minutes thanks to the first _Lima Young Promises' Recital _in the history of the town. It was a small event, full of Lima inhabitants who had never seen a piano up close, but who wanted to discover for themselves how second handed _sophistication_ felt.

"Berry! Come here! It's almost time!" Turning her head brusquely to the left, Rachel recognized the source of the voice as one Quinn Fabray, sitting in the second row of seats and currently waving her hand at her while trying to mask the huge smile plastered on her face. Smiling herself, Rachel dodged various people on her way until she arrived to the blonde's side just to be engulfed in a gigantic hug. Reciprocating instantly, Rachel couldn't help the giggle that escaped her mouth when Quinn leaned down and pressed her mouth against her cheek, her tongue meeting skin seconds later.

"Quinn! Get off her! Rachel, I'm here too!" Smiling as she wiped her face with the heel of her hand, Rachel's smile got even bigger when Brittany encircled her waist and lifted her, her tiny feet moving in the air as Brittany's mouth peppered kisses all over her face.

"When the competition starts you better be quiet!" an angry voice stage-whispered behind them, making the brunette move to her seat immediately as Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Sure thing, Dad" she answered in a disinterested tone before she mouthed "_competition_"to the girls sitting at her sides, causing another set of giggles and an angry gruff from the chairs behind her. Poor Russell, _always_ turning everything into a fight for power.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a deep voice resonated from the stage just in front of them as the lights began to dim, causing the girls to finally settle down with their hands grasped together and nervous smiles on their faces, "welcome to the first 'Lima Young Promises' Recital' ever held in the history of this wonderful city." A wave of polite applause rose in the audience, the voices finally quieting down to nothing, as well as the lights.

"I am here to introduce you to our first performer, a young gentleman with an extraordinary ability to reproduce almost every piece presented to him to perfection." Smiling genuinely, Mr. Jacobs – one of Santana's mentors at the conservatory, if Rachel remembered correctly – bowed his head the slightest bit, his right hand coming up behind him. "Ladies and gentlemen, give a warm welcome to Ethan McAdams!"

* * *

Rachel's feet were dangling nervously from her seat, her hands gripping tightly the edge of her plastic chair as another girl she didn't know performed Verdi. The music was slow and melodic, each note measured and poised as the unknown girl continued to perform the piece almost flawlessly, but Rachel had caught the root of her problems almost instantly. She was not _Santana. _How could someone expect her to like a girl playing the piano when that girl wasn't her Santana? She could just wait until everyone finished to finally enjoy what music could offer her by the hand of the person she admired the most.

"She's pretty good, huh?" Whispered Quinn by her side, her eyes seemingly enthralled by the sight on stage. Furrowing her brow, Rachel didn't move her eyes from the pianist as she whispered "She's not good _enough._"

* * *

"Miss Lopez, you are up next."

Opening her eyes, Santana smiled politely at the young boy, watching him walk away as her body straightened up, getting ready for what was to come. Turning her head back to the mirror of the boudoir she was sitting at, the Latina inhaled deeply, not letting her nerves get the best of her.

Almost everyone she knew was there. Her parents, Quinn, Brittany, Rachel and her dads, Mr. and Mrs. Fabray, Mrs. Puckerman – even Puck had rented a second-hand tuxedo just to be allowed in the theatre. Hell, she had even seen some of her teachers longing around before the recital began. For the most part, it served as an incentive for her, to be able to show them what she was really good at, something she was proud of; but at the same time, it made the butterflies inside her stomach flutter sickeningly. It was just a matter of luck, of concentration, of _talent, _but what if something went bad? What if-

_Beep. Beep._

The Hispanic girl rolled her eyes. A text message two minutes before she had to go onstage. Great timing, stranger. Reaching for her cell inside her handbag, Santana wasn't able to suppress the smile forming in her lips when she read the text.

_Tell my favorite pianist to break a leg._

Only Rachel was able to put the biggest grin on her face when she felt like throwing up. Deciding not to reply, the girl had enough time to put her phone back in her bag's pocket when the same guy from before ushered her to the curtains, just in time to see Marshall Byrnes – stuck up little shit, _nobody_ waves like that – finish his performance. A hand squeezed her shoulder from behind, and when she turned her head she was met with Mr. Jacobs' kind eyes, a sweet smile on his lips.

"You will do great, Santana. I can only wish you good luck now." Smiling back, the girl had no time to thank the man when a nasal voice behind her said "Yes hon, you will need it." The smile on her lips tightened considerably when she turned her body to face Marshall, his slicked back hair looking like a cow had licked it after drinking a ton of honey.

"I was wondering how many little _jobs _you worked to be allowed in this recital, Bieber." Snapped Santana, her ears attentive of any change onstage. The boy just quirked his eyebrow, his arms crossing protectively in front of him. There were battles lost even before they started, and he seemed to have realized way too late for his own good.

"Now, if you'll _excuse_ me," continued the girl in a clipped tone, definitely not going to take any shit from Mr. Gayrbage himself as she patted her silver dress, getting rid of wrinkles and straightening the fabric on her shoulders, "I have a piano to play, and an _audience_ who supports me." A little jab about his friends –or lack, thereof - always came in handy with that jackass.

He left with a huff and a stomp of his shiny shoes, the absurdity of the storm off bringing her back to the present, to the _now. _She was about to perform, wasn't she?

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor and my pleasure to introduce you to one of the brightest students I've ever had the privilege to have in my conservatoire." At this, Santana's breath caught. She was definitely not expecting _that _to come from anybody's mouth, let alone from her most admired professor. "She has been attending the _Lima Music Conservatoire _for eleven years, and let me tell you," Mr. Jacobs adopted a secretive tone at this, making Santana's jaw slacken, "those walls have heard the most beautiful melodies since she touched a piano for the first time." Smiling benevolently, the man's face wrinkled as he turned his head to where Santana was standing backstage, her eyes almost shimmering from emotion.

"Without further ado, here she is: Miss Santana Lopez."

Her feet moved on their own as her wide eyes stared right in front of her, her back straight. She didn't dare turn her head to the crowd in her state of mid shock, and for a fleeting moment she felt like she could fucking kill Mr. Jacobs for being so damn nice in one of the most pressuring events of her life. Sure, it was a small town recital full of incompetents who didn't know the difference between a violin and a cello, but it was her _first _recital. Her conservatory wasn't known for its big performances after all, so she had the right to be nervous as hell.

Feeling the heat of a spotlight on her skin, the tan girl finally breathed deeply and turned her head to the audience. The bright light didn't allow her to see much, but when she spotted a tiny body jumping up and down excitedly by Quinn's blonde hair, she felt her own face stretching into a shy smile. She neared the piano, a special one she had been practicing with for the last two weeks before the spectacle – it was nothing like the Berries', but a good piano nonetheless.

That was _so _not the moment to start drooling over wood and ivory, with the better half of Lima judging her every movement. Okay. She had to make this good. Not for everyone watching her – she was fairly sure she had gotten into trouble at least once with every person inside that building's kids –, but for herself. She had waited the longest time to be granted an opportunity to perform in front of an audience, to prove to _herself _that she really was made for this, that her dreams of flying away to New York and becoming a pianist weren't as crazy as everyone tried to convince her they were, and she wasn't going to throw that opportunity down the drain now.

Besides, she was _kinda _impatient to see her parents' faces after she _killed _it onstage for the first time. And maybe Rachel's too. That little angel had put up with so much of her shit she was surprised she hadn't developed some kind of morons' allergy or something. She _owed _her that performance.

She didn't realize she had sat on the stool in front of the piano until her slender fingers pressed against the top of her dress clad thighs, the feeling switching something inside her. She flexed her fingers for a moment before positioning them over the right keys; her digits ghosting over the ivory as she turned her head to the right and to the audience. There, among lots of figures and shadows she recognized her father's abnormally white teeth, accompanied by her mother's. Both of them looked so proud with the Lopez' expensive recording camera in Mr. Lopez' hand and a tissue in his wife's even before she had pressed a key that she couldn't help the ridiculous little smile that forced itself upon her lips. Moving her gaze a few rows lower she was met with the sight of a wide eyed Quinn Fabray – she was going to hold that shit against her _forever –, _who was trying not to squeeze Brittany's hand to a pulp. What really took her breath away was Rachel's childish proud expression; her eyes shining delightfully and her tiny hands gripping the edge of the seat in front of hers without acknowledging the annoyed looks she was starting to receive. Santana could feel Rachel's emotion from her spot on stage, and she was only able to wink once before the soft sounds of a violin rose on the background, putting her concentration back where it should be. The melody went in crescendo until Santana's fingers started pressing and caressing, brushing against cold material to produce the most beautiful of sounds and to evoke the most melancholic memories.

She had been practicing that piece since she first entered the conservatory, always as a distraction or a relaxing thing to do, never thinking that it could become something else. She hadn't ever dreamt of playing it for an audience, but as her fingers glided over the keys as if a thousand of tiny magnets attracted them she couldn't have felt more at ease, the nerves gripping at the edges of her mind completely gone by the time she reached the middle of the performance.

She knew the exact moment, the exact _note _in which her fingers would speed up and reach a maddening rhythm; in which her movement would match that of her erratic heartbeat, when the music became so intense that her forearms started burning with exertion and her eyes closed without her even noticing, and that moment was almost _there._

And there it was. The climax of the song – too risqué for some people, too difficult for morons like Marshall – making her head bob to the rhythm, her fingers hitting almost aggressively the surface of the keys, the side of her nails sometimes colliding with the ivory as every note pumped through her blood and straight to her hands; and when it finished Santana was left with a breathless feeling that reminded her of the barely thirty seconds she had to bring everyone down from the high cloud she had settled the spectators into. The patterns slowed down, the high notes turning lower and lower until the melody was just a dark murmur of what it had been moments before. The Latina's fingers curled over the ivory, a clear sign that everything was almost over now, wrapped up to perfection. And done.

The roaring wave of applause that followed almost immediately had Santana paralyzed on the stool, the foot against the pedal unmoving as her hands closed in mid air and over the keys. So that is how it felt like to be on stage, to accomplish a small part of her dreams. Well, it was fucking _brilliant. _

Finally waking from her stupor, the young girl got up, still not having glanced at the cheering crowd. The ball of feelings was too great; she was starting to feel overwhelmed in the best of ways. She had admittedly _never _played like that, not for someone else, at least. The adrenaline still ran through her veins, and the only thing she assimilated in that moment were the tears of joy and emotion running down Rachel's face.

* * *

A light knock was heard inside the small room where Santana was reapplying her makeup. It wasn't much, just readjusting her fake eyelashes and some lipstick, since she had to go onstage later again for the goodbyes and all that shit, but she still felt like snapping at Chloe – bitch seriously had just left. Ready to open the door with a playful gruff, she was almost knocked to her ass by a blur of force jumping in top of her.

"Woah! What the f-" but the curse word died in her throat when she saw shiny brown hair and a very special pink cardigan in her arms. Laughing out loud in pure joy, Santana kicked the door closed with her short heel and squeezed the body in her arms tighter, smiling when it was reciprocated.

"How did you get in here?" Asked Santana against Rachel's scalp as she moved them to the small and overused couch resting in the back of the room, until she could plop down with Rachel on her lap and her face buried in her neck. No visits were allowed until the end of the show, and she doubted that anyone would let a thirteen year old sneak backstage.

"Brittany and Santana helped me sneak in," came the muffled answer from her sticky neck. Santana couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her lips at the thought of those smart little bitches pushing Rachel through a hole in the wall as Marshall cried in one corner after Quinn had called him an 'Over-exploited Raimbowland ken'.

After a few seconds of Rachel doing nothing but pin Santana to the couch, the tiny brunette sniffled soundly and moved her head back until they were face to face; her runny nose and red-rimmed eyes erasing the cheerfulness off the darker girl's features.

"Hey, hey. I don't like it when you cry." She frowned as she lifted one of her arms previously surrounding the little girl's waist to press her fingers softly against her face, wiping away a few tears that kept falling. A watery smile broke out in Rachel's face, her breath hitching for a moment before a small laugh fell from her lips. Santana watched every change with rapt attention, her own lips curling up in response. God was she _enamored _with the petite girl.

"You know these are happy tears, silly." Rasped the girl in between little chuckles as she tried to wipe some of the liquid covering her face with the heel of her hand, stopping to let Santana take over that task.

"Yeah, I know, but I still don't like it." Was the only answer she received. The smaller girl had cried enough tears for both of them, and the Latina didn't like to see that number increasing, no matter the reason.

"You were _amazing, _San." Whispered the girl with so much honesty in her voice that Santana locked their eyes for just a moment before resuming her cleaning tasks, a small smile on her face even when her frown remained there. She bit the '_really?_' that wanted to escape her mouth, though; she couldn't be sure that Rachel's flattery was completely sincere (definitely biased), after all.

"When you hit that runs, and I saw your fingers moving so…so quickly. It was mesmerizing." It was impossible for the pianist to maintain her frown on place now that Rachel's eyes bored so earnestly through her own, burning every vestige of her soul. She suddenly felt the need to grip her tighter, closer even to her, as if she might disappear. And so she did.

The petite brunette's arms curved instantly around her neck, but instead of hiding her face in her neck she pressed her forehead against Santana's, they eyes never leaving each other's. The older girl started running one hand up and down Rachel's side – as much as she could without slackening her hold on her –, relinquishing on the feeling of total comfortableness and affection floating around them; _inside _them.

"And that incompetent with slicked back hair _totally_ messed up the end of his performance." Santana's un-lady-like laughter could be heard from the outside of the room, and a fleeting thought of her laughter messing with some kid on stage's performance sobered her up a little. It was hard for her to stop though, when those brown orbs observed her mirthfully and those pearly white teeth kept shining under the bright lightning of the room as a playfully grunted '_I did research for this!_' reached her ears. Finally stopping to regain her breath, Santana tilted her head forward until her forehead was once again resting against the smaller girl's and their noses were touching. She closed her eyes after seeing her companion do the same, and simply breathed in the scent coming from a foreign mouth.

After a couple minutes of lounging, Santana opened her eyes against her own will, being met with those of the beautiful brunette on her lap, noticing with relief that the red had mostly faded. Smiling goofily, she let her features relax again before she slid he nose down Rachel's until the tip of the Latina's was teasing the brunette's open lips. Feeling those terse and plump lips peck her nose with a grin, Santana pressed her mouth against the chin in front of her tenderly. She felt like she had never shared a more precious moment with _anyone – _and it felt kind of ironic, since she had had plenty of moments like that one with _Rachel_ in the past –, and she realized that she wouldn't change a thing.

A few seconds later, the soft ghost of a breath caressed her nose.

"You did _so _well, San…"


	4. Chapter 4

** DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee.**

**This chapter Rachel's already 14. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Did he _touch_ you?" Santana's voice was husky, low and dangerous and filled with an incomprehensible fury. She could feel Rachel's temple pulsing insistently against her thumb as her hands curled around her head, forcing her to bow her own until a halo of intimacy they were used to surrounded them. There was nothing resembling their other talks though.

"We just kissed." Rachel's tone was firm in turn; an anger in that lone word that wasn't present in her chocolate eyes. Santana's fingers curled more steadily in her brunette hair, her eyes closing in frustration and something else as the words registered in her head. They had _kissed_. "And even if he had, I wouldn't -"

"You wouldn't _what_, Rach? Tell me exactly what you _wouldn't_ have done." Honestly, in that moment the smaller girl was lucky that Santana's fingers were gripping her hair like a lifesaver, otherwise she couldn't have assured the proper wellbeing of that fugly stuffed giraffe regarding them from the petite girl's desk, or of any of her other belongings. Her nostrils were flaring, but Rachel didn't look scared at all, which infuriated – and _relieved_ her – to no end. Her eyes were almost black instead, her shoulders tense and ready for the vicious words she had _no_ doubt the older girl would spit at any moment.

"Rachel, just…" The singer's eyes moved up the other girl's face, not expecting the vulnerable and almost pained turn her voice had taken. "Just tell me _why_." She wouldn't admit it – _ever_ – but she was legitimately pleading. With her eyes, with her voice, with her whole fucking _heart. _She just wanted an explanation; why Rachel had gone out with the only kid she had told her she should, _had to _avoid. She had fucking told her about St. James' reputation, she had tried to warn her, she had almost _driven_ to that asshole's house to beat the hell out of him the second Leroy told her the news. She had felt _livid, _and now she missed the feeling because _broken _was not something she wanted to be familiar with.

"I don't get why you're so angry Santana. It meant nothing." Her voice was calm and poised, her eyes once again staring right in front of her but not _seeing_ anything. A pained roar-like sound resonated inside the soundproofed room as Santana let go of Rachel's face, her eyes rimmed red and her forehead wrinkled. How _could_ Rachel- Why would she-?

"You are _fourteen, _Rachel! You turned fucking fourteen _two weeks ago!_" Her arms were rigid by her sides now; her own nails biting the skin of her palms like razors. "And you went out! Out! On a date with _fucking_ St. James-"

"Alright Santana. I don't know what your problem is," Rachel bellowed, her voice raising for the first time since the conversation – or argument, whatever – began. "But if all you're going to do is just stand there spewing cusswords I suggest you _leave_."

Suddenly, the impact of her voice slapped Santana across the face. _What? _She had _never _said _that _to Santana. The older girl was the one who actually left when things went too out of hand for both of them to continue unharmed, but _that? _

Turning her head towards Rachel, she felt the fire behind her eyes vanishing into something different; into a searing smoke that blurred her vision in a way that only tears could. She turned her head away before the first of her tears fell.

"I just want to know _why_." The admission cut through the air like a knife; the voice carrying it so weak that it should have been _impossible_ for Rachel to have the wind knocked out of her.

The smaller girl still refused to answer even as her eyes filled with tears she had been trying her _damnedest _to contain. She couldn't do this; she wouldn't be able to stand her ground anymore. Not if Santana kept on barreling her with emotions and feelings and _truth _and-

"I just want to know." Suddenly her face was in Santana's hands again, their foreheads pressed together as if she could reach the truth from deep within her soul with just this closeness. The air was getting thick, and it took her a moment to realize that she was the only one crying now. It didn't seem _fair_ to her.

"Why do you get a say in _my _life," whispered Rachel, her childish voice trembling and as dark as ever, "when not two weeks ago _you_ were off doing God knows_ what_ with Jones." In that moment, Santana swore Rachel had never looked so small and quite so painfully mature. The sorrow behind her eyes was one of who had gone through things Santana was pretty sure Rachel had _not_, of one who hasn't known what they were doing until _that _very moment, and Santana's head swan in a swirl of confusion. In her brain there was no line of connection between St. Fucking James and Mercedes' brother, because there wasn't _any._

"I don't…what do you mean?" Her voice soft now, she saw Rachel's eyes flutter closed as more tears fell down her chiseled cheeks, their path not being interrupted by Santana's thumbs even though they were itching to do so. "What does _that_ fucking have to do with that shithead."

"It has _everything _to do, Santana!" Rachel's eyes opened again, but she couldn't move her head away from Santana's tenacious grip, so she opted for grabbing her wrists tightly, letting her shaking hands hurt them both. "Don't you get it? It has everything to do!" Shaking her head as much as she could, the girl inhaled sharply through her nose and let go of Santana's wrists, bunching the back of her tank top in her tiny fists instead. Santana stepped forward until the strain on her neck became painful, and allowed her lips to seek out familiar skin for the first time in what seemed like an _eternity_. Her mouth pressing against Rachel's forehead hotly, she felt something resembling a fever rising up.

"You don't understand how it _feels_," suddenly broke the silence the shaky voice of the brunette as her tongue tried to keep up with her brain, "to know that the _most_ important person to you, the _center_ of your world, is being irremediably taken away from you," Santana's heart twitched when Rachel's voice broke, the weight of her confession sagging her physically, "and they seem like they _don't care._" A sob bubbled up in Santana's chest, and she hadn't released it before Rachel's face pushed forward and against her hold, burying her face in the neck in front of her. Through the years, she thought she had mapped out most of Santana's anatomy. Her neck had been probably the most sought part of her body; endless nights spent crying against it, opening herself while her face sheltered there having made her quite fond of it. But in _that _moment, when Santana held her fiercely to her as she fought through her own sobs and she felt the smooth skin of that throat against her cheek, her lips, her eyelids; in that moment in which both she and Santana were finally on the same page, cherishing each other's company like a starving man would cling to one last vestige of food, the body in front of her looked like it had been _opened_ for the first time for her.

Gasping for air against the damp skin Rachel found herself bawling, trying to make incomprehensible words understandable for Santana. Sniffling quite harshly after a while, the girl moved back from her hiding place and swiped her thumb over the patch of skin, marveling at the contrast of colors and brightness between her hand and the girl's dermis. She considered it an amazement as Santana's mouth blew hot waves of air and _herself_ against her forehead. One of the Latina's hands had started rubbing the back of her neck, the other one still perched graciously – as _everything_ she did – around a slim waist.

Was she _prepared_ to have this conversation with Rachel? To look inside herself so that _she_ could understand before she tried to talk to Rachel? She didn't know; honestly had no freaking clue. However, after the mental breakdown they both had just had experienced, trying was the least she could do.

"Rache," the Latina whispered, nudging her chin up with the hand previously drawing circles on the back of her neck, caressing the skin below her right ear with her thumb, "don't you _ever_ feel like you are not the most important person for me too." Checking her rhythm – good, still breathing – she smiled wearily at her, sighing with relief when Rachel didn't try to dodge her eyes. "Two weeks ago, Wade called me because he wanted me to _help_ him look for a present for Mercedes." At the look of confusion followed by a bright bulb above Rachel's head, Santana's hesitant smile widened even more. "There is _no_ _way _I'd date the gay dynamo, princess." Rachel felt the chuckle even before it resonated through her chest and off her lips, but the cheerfulness of the moment was short lived as Rachel's hands tugged insistently on the shirt she had been gripping for the longest time now.

"You still haven't told me why you were so mad." Santana's smile slipped off her face as fast as it had appeared, and her lips pursed in a thoughtful manner. She herself wasn't sure about what had compelled her to react quite so…_harshly_ over Rachel's little experiment. It was obvious it hadn't meant anything; a stab of jealousy well aimed at Santana's heart to win her attention before she left for New York to chase her dreams without her. But why had she been mad? Well, Jesse was an asshole; they had been attending Carmel together since the beginning of times at _least, _and the idea of that fucktard near Rachel made her skin crawl and her stomach turn in the most uncomfortable of ways. What should she tell Rachel, though?

"Jesse's a douchebag, he would only have used you." Her face was serious once again, a scowl taking over her features.

"You wouldn't have allowed that to happen, would you?" Smiled Rachel, her voice sweet as honey as it dripped into Santana's ears.

"Of course _not._ Over my dead body."

* * *

It was an hour later that found both girls laying on the petite brunette's comforter, their knees touching as their bodies intertwined like many times before. It was as natural as breathing for both of them, and a dull ache settled in Santana's heart as she realized that in a few months she wouldn't get to do that with the girl anymore. In that moment though, she just held her tighter against her.

"You know what the worst part of this is?" Rachel's muffled voice reached her ears, catching her by surprise. She honestly thought the girl had fallen asleep a long time ago.

"Huh?"

"The worst part of today."

Mmm, that her brain had almost melted? That she had gotten the _need_ to smash a guy's head into pieces?

"Nuh-uh."

Silence.

"That Jesse was my first kiss…"

Eyes opening wide, Santana didn't know what she was doing until she had shuffled them into position, her bicep under Rachel's head as a pillow as her gaze bore directly through the brunette's eyes. Her other hand came up to move away the strands of hair that had fallen on her cheek, displaying her flawless and pure as ever. Glancing down towards plump lips once, twice, the Latina closed her eyes when slim fingers brushed against her cheek and moved behind her ear to pull her head forward gently, timidly. They had definitely shared moments like that one, but not quite like _that _one. Both of them were going to push, to ask more of the other for an instant, and nothing seemed wrong for a few seconds.

_Let the world go mad without us._

And as softly as she had felt those words inside her head, her lips brushed against Rachel's. It was a magical feeling, her nerve endings standing up and numbing, not letting a single moment of the soft touch go to waste. It was painfully slow and thorough the way in which her bottom lip encased Rachel's one delicately, trying to erase every vestige of a foreigner's ephemeral reign over the flesh. Rachel's hand had curled around her ear, afraid of letting go, but there was absolutely _no_ need as Santana's mouth opened for her the slightest bit, allowing a tiny brush of paradise against her own lips before her mouth closed again around her top lip. Their lips were already damp with each other, and the feeling was exhilarating. It was maddening and it was delicious and it was everything Rachel though she'd never have after Jesse's mouth invaded hers with his overexcited tongue and chapped lips.

Of course, it ended too soon for her liking and too late for Santana's sake, but both their sanities were already at stake, weren't they? The taller girl pecked the singer softly before blowing a hot steam of air against her lips, one last reminder of _heaven._ Rachel opened her lips, just staring ahead for a second before she lifted her gaze to look into Santana's eyes, the chocolate spiraling tantalizingly there. There was no coherent thought inside her head now, and she would let the pianist deal with everything later; but in that moment she felt so deliriously _happy_ that she couldn't stop a lone tear that fell down her eye and mounted the bridge of her nose, just to be kissed away by those same lips that had been on hers mere seconds ago.

"Thank you." Was all she felt like she cold whisper with her newly clouded mouth and full heart, just as Santana kissed her forehead tenderly and squeezed her, their bodies flush together once again.

"I love you, Rach." Answered Santana as her heart thumped heavily against Rachel's chest. Could she feel its hard rhythm against her own?

Deciding that her mind would surely be fog-free in the morning, the girl managed to hook a small blanked at the feet of the hideous bed with her foot and moved it up her leg until she could reach it with her hand. She snorted lightly when she realized that Rachel would do _nothing _to help her cause, and the Latina's deft fingers disentangled the blanket. A minute or so later of fumbling – and giggling from Rachel's part – the two girls were comfortably covered in the soft fabric, its heat no greater than the one they provided each other.

"I love you too, San. So much." Minutes later, they fell asleep to Santana's lips on her temple.


	5. Chapter 5

** DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee**

**They have the same age they did last chapter, aaand I'm pretty sure next chapter will be the last before the time jump :)**

* * *

"Can you pass me the ketchup?"

Santana groaned as she was forced to straighten up in order to reach for a small packet of ketchup standing teasingly in front of her on the dirty, positively unsanitary _Lima'n'Cheese_'s table. She squeezed it unnecessarily before throwing it at Quinn lazily, her body sagging down immediately after.

"Thank you." The usually cold blonde caught the package before it touched the table, and with a self satisfied smile she proceeded to rip it open and pour it on her bacon-filled plate. Santana had to physically hold the grimace threatening to adorn her face at the greasy meal. She kind of understood where Quinn was coming from, with all that protein crap crazy Sylvester made her Cheerios take, but shit was just _disgusting. _

The sudden sound of a hand hitting the top of the table startled both girls, their heads whipping to the right just to be met with Brittany's blue eyes. Noticing her friends' questioning looks, the blonde just shrugged and continued eating, taking an abnormally big bite out of her hamburger before giving an explanation.

"Thought I saw a spoon, sorry." Wow, thanks Brittany. As if that made any sense whatsoever. Smiling, Santana decided to let it pass, after all she was used to her friend's weird antics, and it wasn't like she wasn't gonna miss them once she was headed for New York.

_Slap._

That was what reality felt like.

In less than three months her ass would be traveling to one of the most expensive Colleges in the country, leaving everything behind. _Her _everything.

She was headed for a Bachelor of Music degree in Juilliard of all places – pretty much her dream since she had learnt what a piano was – and the excitement she had felt when the perfectly sealed envelope had been pushed into her hands by her mother had been almost incomparable. Tears had flowed, hugs had been delivered and received, and all among her group of friends the news had been assimilated with so much joy and pride she had had to stop Puckerman from bursting into Carmel High School with a fucking banner announcing the losers there who was going to Juilliard, scholarship included.

Wow. She was going to miss that asshole.

In that moment a flood of images came crashing down inside her, memories she had made, and memories _people_ had made only for her.

Everything she had lived, she realized, was what had made her the woman she was today. She knew her life hadn't been hard; her parents were as awesome and caring as they could get – her Papi even gave her her very own credit card at fourteen – always supporting her with her dream of becoming a pianist, of going to off to College on her own with the reminder that everyone she loved would be there, pushing her through everything she wouldn't be able to face on her own.

Sighing, the Latina grabbed the neck of her wine cooler and brought it to her lips, taking a sip before Quinn's soft voice rang through her ears.

"What's going to happen with Rachel?" And there it was. Santana knew the question had been coming, too much not to ask. Rachel had become like a little sister to Quinn – for both her blonde friends – and she couldn't have expected them not to care even in a million years. She heard Brittany cease the helicopter-like sounds she was making, obviously ready to listen to her answer, and she sighed again, taking another sip of her beer.

"San?" this time it was Brittany's voice that hit her, her childish tone making her close her eyes in preparation. Now she knew _she _had to answer, she liked it or not. The girl moodily put the bottle on the table and crossed her arms in front of her chest, her shoulders squaring defensively.

"What about Rachel?" She finally snapped, her expression mildly annoyed trying to cover up the frantic rhythm of her heart. She knew perfectly what they were referring to, but playing dumb was something she liked to use for as long as she got caught. Unfortunately for her, her two friends could read her like an open book.

"Santana," started Quinn, her unusually warm voice stirring something inside the tan girl. She knew what Quinn was trying to do, but she wasn't sixteen anymore; she wasn't a fucking _kid. _

"Don't you dare use that tone with me, Quinn Fabray." Her arms had uncrossed, and now her hands were resting on the disgusting surface of the plastic table. "You don't know anything, so don't pretend you do, and _don't _try to understand things you are not meant to."

Quinn positively looked like she had been slapped on the face. Her HBIC scowl was present for the first time that night, and for a split moment Santana was glad she had put it there.

"Me? I don't know _anything?_" Wow. Christian girl actually looked pissed. Must have turned her bitch switch on accident or something. "I am _not _the one who has been avoiding Rachel-" "I have not being-" "The hell you haven't!" By this point, both girls were on their feet, each one at one side of the booth, their voices having silenced everything else at the crappy parlor. Looking around for a moment, a still seething Santana clenched her teeth. That was _so _not the way she had wanted that nice evening to go. But Quinn didn't know shit, and she wasn't going to hesitate to point that out.

"What is it now, Quinn?" The Latina asked, her voice smooth while she picked up her coat and hastily threw her phone inside her purse. "Why do you suddenly care so much about someone who's not _you?_" She didn't move her gaze away even when Quinn did; it was rewarding seeing how she won this battle against one of the few people who always managed to get away with everything concerning her. She knew the words to not be true at _all, _but if they hurt Quinn even a little bit, then they were good enough.

She was so done with that shit. She hadn't decided to hang out with her friends to end up like _this, _it was fucking twisted of Quinn to turn the whole situation against her. What if she had been avoiding Rachel? She had the _right _to do so. She wanted to protect herself, _dammit! _She knew her heart wouldn't stand it once she had to leave the small girl behind. Quinn was going to Yale, and Brittany was going to look for a future in the industry she liked, off wherever she chose. But _Rachel? _Sweet, small, innocent Rachel? High school Rachel? She was too much, too strong of a memory for Santana to leave behind.

"Go to hell, Santana." _Ouch. _Well, that had hurt more than expected. Quinn was known for not being able to hear the _h _word, but somehow hearing the complete exhaustion in her voice made up for that a little. The only thing she had to avoid at all costs was looking at Brittany's face; she wasn't sure she'd be able to handle it.

Finally having managed to gather all her belongings, the Latina marched to the establishment's door, her strides long and powerful. Just before exiting the place, with one hand on the handle, she laughed bitterly, her eyes already red rimmed as her heart broke a little.

"Be careful, Q. It could look like you have a _crush_ on the girl."

She felt the whole force of the punch Quinn threw her way as she finally left the place, her soft and angry voice echoing inside her head as her eyes finally allowed the tears to set in.

"_That's so fucking ironic._"

* * *

Stumbling her way through the deserted street, Santana finally managed to locate the white door she had been looking for.

"Bingo!" she murmured, her face lighting up as she made her way to the front of the Berry's house. The girl pulled on the handle a few times, cursing under her breath when the door wouldn't budge.

"What the f- oh." She giggled when she remembered where the emergency key was stashed. "Mmm, _my key,_" the girl sang softly, her fingers fumbling with the metal until she managed to slide it into the crack. With little more effort on her part Santana opened the door, her short heeled boots creating a soft clacking sound against the polished wooden floor.

Hold the hell up.

Leroy was like, enormous. And Hiram could talk her ear off. Were they home?

Silence.

Oh! _Oh! _They were off to Cincinnati for four days. _Sweet._

Carefully –_ kind of – _putting the keys on the little table at the beginning of the hallway, Santana looked around for a moment, battling against disorientation before she made her way upstairs. She had to support herself on the banister, but that shit was made for that anyways, right? Smiling triumphantly when she reached the top of the staircase, a small part of the fog clouding her mind seemed to disappear. What was she doing _there, _in the middle of the night? _Drunk?_

Oh shit. Oh _shit. Oh shit._

Frowning, the girl turned her body swiftly around, facing the dark staircase once again, regretting the move instantly as the monkey inside her head started moving and bumping in her brain.

"Fuck." Her body was standing against a wall, her hands covering her face as she tried to make the pounding inside her head – and her heart – stop.

What was she doing _there? _She needed to know before she tried to face anyone, let alone Rachel.

It all had started with that fucking kiss.

It had been _meaningless, _an act of trust and comfort that shouldn't have affected Santana the way it did. Rachel had practically asked for help, for her protector to make everything better and a little less painful. What she definitely didn't expect was the collateral damage; conceited feelings and unknown sensations.

From that moment, things started to get awkward. Well, not things, but _her. _She had spent the whole night wrapped around Rachel, and it somehow felt like it would be the last. When she woke up the next day with the warm body in her arms and the soft lips unconsciously against her shoulder, she hadn't been able to stand it. She had _run away. _She had left her little Rachel, the biggest part of her life ever since she was fifteen behind, probably sending her into a panic fit when she woke up.

She had ignored every call, every message; had stayed at school whole evenings, gone to the library at times she wouldn't have even thought about a week ago; she had practically _lived _inside her conservatory, her safe haven ever since she was a kid. She had tried to escape, to leave it all behind before reality came crashing down on her at the airport, when Rachel would kiss her cheek goodbye and hug her fiercely.

She had thought everything would be better if she ended things soon and fast, but _why? _She had had _years _to plan it out; how she would get over everything, how she would make a schedule just for Rachel to call her everyday and every night once she had gone away - _hell, _she had even made a fucking _customized map _of the city, marking the places Santana would take Rachel to whenever she visited and explaining them in detail. And still, she had never felt quite as helpless as in that moment; with her knees trembling and her mouth clamped shut, trying to remember why she was standing there in the first place.

She knew the kiss was to blame, she just didn't know _why._

Breathing deeply, the Latina squared her shoulders and pushed against the wall behind her, her stance straight for a whole second before her reflexes and the boots she was sporting failed her, and her body swayed to the opposite wall.

"Shit!" she stage whispered just before she was able to extend her arms and press them against the wall, preventing her catastrophic fall while slapping a switch in the wall at the same time. The lights went on soundlessly, making her flinch and bow her head. "Shit," she repeated as she regained her balance, rubbing her eyes for a moment before a voice made her whip her head to the right.

"Santana?"

_Shit._

"What are you doing here? Do you even know what time is it?"

Of _course _she didn't. She was trashed as hell.

"Of course I do," the older girl answered, frowning when her words slurred the slightest bit. "Of course," she repeated, but this time with a much higher pitch. Rachel just stared disbelievingly at her, her rigid arms coming up to cross defensively in front of her chest.

"What you doing up," Santana tried to coax the girl into leaving her alone, her poor worded question being met with its rightful reaction. Opening her mouth, obviously ready to counter attack that offense against her intelligence, Rachel closed it again, inhaling sharply through her nose as her just woken brown eyes scanned the body five feet in front of hers. Instantly, her arms dropped to her sides as she took in Santana's desperate expression. She seemed so torn; the nervous flickering of her dilated eyes making Rachel's stomach twist uncomfortably. For a moment she thought about kicking her out; almost three weeks had passed without any kind of contact for her part, and it had hurt badly. No text visits, no phone calls, not even a damn message. Only a cold pillow when she woke up, after she had carefully taken her heart inside her soft hands and had kissed it, over and over until it turned into a poodle of love and hope and _reality. _

But watching her there; standing in front of her, drunk and obviously lost, she couldn't feel anything but understanding and tenderness towards the girl who had been her angel, her rock, her _Santana _for four years.

Pursing her lips, Rachel sighed before she walked forward, her hand reaching out to gently grasp Santana's wrist as soon as she was able to. The Latina just looked down at their joined skin, her blank expression as inscrutable as ever. After a moment she looked up, her eyes softening a little as they met Rachel's, and what she saw there made her want to be slapped over and over again. Preferably by Quinn, that bitch had no qualms when it came to slapping.

Rachel had to fight off a smile when Santana's palm instantly turned upwards, gracing her slender fingers against paler skin as on reflex. The smaller girl tugged at their joined hands, the movement making the Latina's head snap upwards again.

_No. _She should say no. She had gone three weeks without any kind of contact – just too much alcohol for her system and her friends' opinion – and she wasn't going to screw it up then. She couldn't; she just wouldn't be able to stand the outcome three months later.

But her heart had beaten her head more times than she cared to admit already, and it had decided that _that _was not a battle it was going to lose.

Sighing deeply in relief and disappointment, Santana grazed the heel of Rachel's hand with her own, adjusting their position until she could slid her fingers between Rachel's, all the while they were walking to the girl's bedroom.

"Didn't your parents ever tell you," she was interrupted by a hiccup, the action melting Rachel's heart a little bit more, "to not walk around like _that_" she pointed to Rachel's _Hello Kitty _pajamas, a tight grin on her lips, "when you hear, like, weird noises?" Another hiccup. The girl was really making it hard to stay mad at her.

Smiling despite herself, the girl simply pushed Santana backwards on her bed, making her plop without a sound.

"Actually, that was you," she answered, the affective tone in her voice not going unnoticed by the Latina. So she hadn't screwed up _that_ much.

Honestly the girl didn't know if that would make things easier, or even harder.

"Mmm, _lies,_" she murmured, tilting her head to the right until she could see Rachel's entire form from behind. The petite brunette was looking for a pajama – Santana's presumably – and she looked disgustingly cute trying to reach the highest shelf in her wardrobe. For a split moment she thought about standing up and reaching for it herself as she always did, but that night she didn't feel like doing so. She'd just continue watching the way her lower back appeared bare in front of her each time Rachel extended her arms upwards, or how her potent legs – seriously, Brittany had made a beast out of her with all those dancing lessons – would tense and relax, her skin outlining the rippling muscles just beneath, or how her back shifted tantalizingly with every move she made.

_Yep_ Definitely _too much _alcohol.

By the time Rachel managed to grab the pair of pajamas Santana always used – _The Simpsons, _thank you very much – ,the Latina had started to doze off, her eyes unfocused and glazed over.

"No, Santana. Santana!" The petite brunette was merely stage-whispering, but it took all of Santana's weakened willpower not to shove her hand into her fucking mouth.

"_What,_" she snapped, her eyes opening wide as she felt a sudden urgency for more of that poison running through her veins at the sight of a defiant looking Rachel Berry. It was certainly not a foreign look on the smaller girl, but that night Santana was much more aware of everything being near the girl entailed, and having to resist those scorching looks was not one of the things she had been expecting to endure.

"Put these on," the girl shoved the clothes into Santana's lap, guilt instantly settling at the pit of the pianist's stomach when the brunette's smile was wiped off her face. She didn't say anything, though; her pride had already been bruised too much that night. Standing on wobbling legs and having to push strands of hair out of her face countless times, the Latina managed to change into her set of pajamas and get under the covers in one piece.

Now. What to do _now. _She probably should start by telling Rachel why-

"San?" Oh well. She did not expect that soft voice to call out for her first. Twisting her body to the right, and then a little more, the girl found herself facing Rachel's back; the only thing separating them a few inches of mattress.

"Mmm?"

"You know…" C'mon Rach, ", you know I still love you, right? Even if you're leaving, and you are scared I will stop loving you, or I will forget you." A sniff reverberated inside the room, and the pianist wasn't sure who it belonged to. "You will always be here, with me."

"_Fuck._"

The anguished sob left her mouth without her consent, her chest shaking inconsolably as she shuffled forward until her front was melting against the other girl's back and her arms were like iron against her waist. She spent the next few minutes just sobbing mindlessly against a tiny shoulder and part of a neck, her feelings mixed with the fact that she was a weepy girl drunk creating a devastating combination. She just- she was going to miss Rachel _so fucking much._

Ten minutes had passed before her left hand started running patterns on Rachel's stomach under her pajama's top, both girls listening to one another's even breathing. So much had happened in such a short time that Santana was surprised she was still functioning properly. Sighing, she stared ahead, her thoughts going from the girl in her arms to New York to her favorite piano and back in just a few minutes. She pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, damp with tears, and didn't move her mouth away until it resulted obvious that in order to keep breathing she would have to use her mouth.

"Rache, I will always love you, too." It was merely a murmur breathed against warm, wet skin; the other girl having closed her eyes a while ago. But she just needed to say it, as stupid and useless as it felt rolling out of her tongue. She just _needed _to tell Rachel.

"I _know_ that, silly."


	6. Chapter 6

** DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee**

**Here it is, the last chapter before New York! Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing. **

**Oh! Of course, thanks to K because you rock and inspire me, and to Santanalovesrachelberries (follow her on tumblr!) just because she's ****_that _****awesome. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"And you have to tell me if you meet any cute boys."

"_Mom!_"

Santana threw one of the t-shirts she was folding at her mother's head, managing to ruffle her jet black hair before it collapsed on the floor. Mrs. Lopez just smiled cheekily at her, her eyes sparkling with affection at her daughter's antics. She was really proud of the woman she had become, and

"Yeah, sorry I forgot. _Girls_. If you meet any cute girls you have to-"

"_No_! Seriously, stop it! You be's starting to piss me off."

Letting out an obnoxiously loud laugh the older Lopez got up from her kneeling position in front of her daughter's suitcase, supporting herself on the bed with her right hand.

"I don't understand how you manage to be so excruciatingly charming in public," Mrs. Lopez teased as she patted down her hair back to normal.

Smirking playfully, the teenager shrugged as she leant down to place a couple of jeans in her suitcase, breathing dramatically once she straightened up. "We both know your _damnastic _genes took over that _one _time." Laughing again, Maribel stepped forward and over a pile of clothing and stood in front of her daughter, examining her for a moment before her arms wrapped themselves around the taller body. Santana reciprocated instantly, a snarky retort dying in the tip of her tongue when she felt her mother's nose grazing her bare shoulder.

"I am _really, _reallygonna miss you, mija," the woman murmured against her skin, squeezing Santana and waiting until she squeezed back to finally slacken her grip. "You are going to do so much, Santi, and you are going to make your father and me so proud. You _already_ have." What could the girl say to that? She didn't know, so she just stared into her mother's eyes until her vision became blurry and her Mom patted her shoulder softly, moving away a second later when a ring resonated through the house.

"Is it Noah?" the woman called out as she walked out the door, ignoring her daughter's grumbled '_it better be_'. A few seconds later, the mohawked boy was entering her room with a familiar bump on his arms struggling against his tight grip.

"Noah! I will _not _repeat it again! Let me down this instant!" Rachel's high pitched voice bellowed, wriggling her legs until the tall jock finally deposited her gingerly on the floor. Huffing, the girl looked at him with accusative eyes and whispered a quite cross sounding '_Thank you_' before she turned her head to Santana, who had just been observing the scene unfolding in front of her. Seriously, it was exhilarating – and hilarious – watching how that little brunette had everybody wrapped around her tiny fingers.

Seemingly having already forgotten about Puck, Rachel smiled widely, mirth and emotion and more confusing and unrecognizable things swimming in her brown orbs as she locked eyes with Santana.

In that moment she decided that, if someone _ever _asked her to describe Rachel, she would definitely go with _fucking breathtaking._

"In a scale of Mr. Schuester wearing a sparkly vest to Barbra performing 'The way we were' at the Oscars, how excited are you?" she questioned, moving her hands so that they were intertwining in front of her as she balanced her weight on the balls of her feet.

"The hell? Mr. Schuester in a _sparkly _vest? What'cha high on, kid?" boomed Puck's voice from behind the brunette before Santana had time to reply. Rolling her eyes and throwing a shirt at him in the same fashion she had done with her mother, Santana laughed when he caught it before if hit his face, a whiny '_Hey!_' resonating inside her bedroom walls. Smiling down at Rachel, she bit her lip as she rolled her eyes childishly and opened her arms wide, hearing the petite brunette's sharp intake of breath followed by a piercing giggle before her small body crashed into hers. Closing her arms around her friend immediately, the pianist squeezed her tightly, not leaving even a breath between them. She turned her head to the right, snuggling her face into a mane of brown hair and seeking the heat Rachel's body was exuding against hers and not caring about the painful position she was putting her neck into.

Finally pulling back, Santana kept the other girl tightly wrapped by her side as her eyes flew to Puck once more, his hands currently going through the pile of underwear she had yet to put into her suitcase.

"Puckerman, if you want to keep any hanging member of your abnormally hairless Jewish body _intact_, I suggest you get your lady-groping paws off my clothes."

Hands coming up innocently in the air, the man smirked teasingly when Rachel's arms came up around Santana's, preventing her from being able to move enough to carry on with her threat. Sighing, the Latina planted a kiss on the top of her head, smiling stupidly when Rachel buried her face into her collarbone in response.

"I still have to finish packing enana," she cooed teasingly. Huffing playfully the little girl let go of her arms, her own coming up in front of her as if signaling her to stop.

"You packed everything by color and texture, right?" Suddenly looking very alarmed with her eyes wide and mouth half open, the girl was truly a comical sight. Raising an eyebrow, the pianist scoffed and turned to her suitcase, taking some of the pants neatly folded inside her bed and into the blue bag.

"Of course I _didn't. _Do you even know me?" she squeaked with an offended expression on her face. "Puck, pass me that plastic bag over there," the Latina threw over her shoulder distractedly, only moving her head when Puck kept smiling goofily and tapping the screen of his phone. "Yo asshole, move your lazy ass just this once, won't you?" Huffing at the snort her responded with, she pressed everything inside her case even tighter just before Rachel handed her the plastic bag she had fruitlessly asked Puck for. Smiling up at her and having to fight off the now familiar tightening of her throat when the prickling realization that she wouldn't get to see Rachel – to touch her, to be _near_ her – in a long time once she got her ass on that plane, the girl brushed her fingers against the petite girl's when she took the bag, depositing it into a still empty corner of the suitcase.

She was certain she wouldn't ever find anyone like her, and she wouldn't be able to build such a strong, unbreakable bond with any other person. Lately she had been wondering if being that close to anyone would result well for her and her heart. Do _not _mistake her though; everyday she thanked the God she didn't believe in as much as she used to for having given her a taste of paradise on Earth, someone she could be so completely open with.

After all, Rachel had been the first one to hear about Santana's sudden appreciation for the female physique even when it should have been the other way around, but Rachel had always been quite headstrong about her beliefs and whatnot, and she certainly was not one to talk about boys and stuff like that. Oh, and hadn't been Rachel the one who had helped her replace the burnt drapes of her kitchen after she accidentally set them on fire while her parents were visiting Maribel's family? The petite brunette had taken several pictures of the unharmed part of the fabric, not wasting a second before she ushered the taller girl out of the door and to every selling-curtains shop in Lima.

She didn't realize she had been smiling until Puck, being his usual self, decided that he was going to be a complete asshole on the last day he'd be able to see her in a few months.

"Is your hand down a lady's pants, Picante?" Santana found it incredibly difficult not to bash his head against the wall behind him in that moment.

"Fuck yo-"

"_Noah!_ Though I find your deduction not completely out of place due to the nature of Santana's usually out of control hormones, I'd very much appreciate it if you were able to not word your suspicions in such a crude manner." Jaw hanging open, Santana's eyes narrowed dangerously, the last set of jeans hovering mid air over the rest.

"Seriously? Is _this _how you're gonna defend me? Who wants fucking enemies with friends like these!" The teenager huffed crossly, tossing all caution and care aside and simply pushing the jeans on top of her sweaters. Rachel just looked at her, not quite sure of what had caused the Latina to go off like that. Approaching her carefully, completely ignoring Puck's '_Jewish princess, don't_', the smaller girl extended an arm until it rested on Santana's shoulder, who was crouched and facing her case while she furiously stacked all her makeup supplies inside. Gently tugging on the shoulder, Rachel exhaled when Santana kept ignoring her.

"San? I'm sorry if I said something that offended you at any level. I certainly didn't do it with that purpose." Voice soft like cotton, Rachel frowned when Santana's shoulders started shaking lightly, her hands not moving anymore. "Santana? I am really sorry! I didn't mean to upset you!" Her voice boarded on desperate at the same time Santana lifted one of her hands to her mouth, covering it. "God San I'm so-" Not able to maintain her composure any longer, the tan beauty threw her head back, loud laughter filling the room instantly. Puck joined her just a second later, leaving a dumbfounded Rachel standing confused at the center of the room. Her shock didn't last much longer though, as her tiny fists clenched at her sides and her lips formed a tense line. Santana, trying to lessen some of the damage, reached for Rachel, though it was a difficult feat to achieve with her vision blurred with tears. Fingers curling around a slim waist, Santana tugged until Rachel's stiff frame was just in front of her. Her laughter had subsided into soft chuckling, and Rachel's stern face was finally starting to sink in her brain.

"Hey," she purred against her side, her other arm coming up to completely encase Rachel's torso, "You're not really mad, are you? Cuz we were totally just messing around." From her kneeling position she saw Rachel blow a puff of air at her bangs at the same time she rolled her eyes, indicative enough that she _was _mad. Smiling when the petite brunette crossed her arms in front of her chest, Santana tugged until she turned around a little, just enough for her to press her cheek against her taut stomach.

"C'mon Rache," she cooed, rubbing her cheek teasingly and managing to untuck her pink blouse in the process, "Don't be mad? It's my last day here…" maybe she shouldn't have said that. Her throat closed for a moment, and her fingers dug on tender skin through the clothes. Rachel seemed to have a similar thought – _stupid, _stupid Santana – because not even three seconds later her small hands were on Santana's head, touching and going through her hair as if the tricked one who needed consoling had been the Latina and not herself.

"Of course I'm not mad," she finally breathed out, subtly holding Santana's head against her, savoring every contact and every touch as if it were the last. In some way, they _were. _

In spite of Santana's playful touches and stupid purrs, the air inside the room had stilled considerably, creating a tension unwelcomed in a moment of mirth and fun like that one had been supposed to be. Sighing, Santana's arms moved away, leaving Rachel suddenly cold. Was she _always _going to feel like that from now on?

"Santana! ¿Has acabado?" Came the potent voice of Maribel from downstairs, washing over the three teenagers like water.

"I've almost finished, hold up," she replied in the same torrent of voice. Rachel actually giggled when she heard Puck snort '_freaking Latin genes_' from behind his phone.

Three minutes after, Puck was finishing zipping the case with two amused girls contemplating whether to laugh or just help him.

"Need any help, _Puckarone?_" Santana mocked in a manly voice, her own chuckle only stifled by Rachel's. The Latina had her arms thrown over Rachel's shoulders from behind, with Rachel grabbing her wrists in a hard hold. The piano player pressed her chin to the top of Rachel's head, making it more difficult for the both of them to move and neither of them giving a damn.

"I got…I got this," he grunted from his spot on top of the case, balancing his weight on his feet and ass while he tried to move the zipper. "See?" he asked once he was able to successfully move the damn thing, his voice sounding way too smug for such a small feat. "Nothing the Puckasaurus can't do, babes."

* * *

She felt those strong arms surrounding her completely, and for a moment she let herself feel his body against hers. Puck wasn't going to be able to be at the airport when she was due to take off in four hours, so everyone had decided that it would be better if he didn't go at all. He had some business to take care off – like extracting dead bugs from green and disgusting pools – and Santana was not going to make him drive to and from the airport for nothing.

"You're gonna get some important ass in New York, Satan," he mumbled into her ear, and she knew that he was trying to cover the fact that his voice had trembled the slightest bit when he hoisted her up in the air, spinning her around a couple times before depositing her on the floor. He was going to remember that moment, Santana made sure of that when her nails clawed at his back.

"More than you, sure," she teased as she pulled back, her hand coming up to his shoulder and sliding a little bit down his chest, showing wordless affection to the boy who had been her main problem and her main solution countless times in her life.

Slamming the trunk of the car, Mr. Lopez whistled and shook his hands, a weird habit Santana had never completely understood. "Ready to go?" he bellowed enthusiastically, perfectly covering the opaque sadness clouding his eyes. Smiling at Puck one last time, the dark eyed girl mouthed '_take care_' before she got into the backseat of her car, closing the door at the same moment Maribel and Rachel closed the Lopez' front door. Stopping by Puck until he crouched down enough to allow her to kiss his cheek and squeak a '_See you later Noah!_', Rachel ran to the car, opening the door Santana had just closed and practically throwing herself on said girl's lap. Maribel walked calmly to the Volkswagen, waving once she had closed her door. Puck just stood in front of the white house with his hands on his pockets, smiling broadly as if one of his best friends wasn't being ripped away from him.

* * *

"The airport is farther away than I remembered," mused a bored Rachel as her fingers played absent-mindedly with Santana's. The piano player nodded understandably and tugged at the smaller hand, winking when Rachel looked up. It worked everytime, and Rachel's giggle only got cuter.

"It's this slow-ass van's fault," they heard the muffled murmur of Armando, who was gripping the steering wheel with such force his knuckles had turned white. Patting her husband's arm soothingly, Mrs. Lopez uttered a few calming words in Spanish, not stopping until his grip returned to normal. Rachel's eyes, fixated on the couple, held the bigger hand tighter inside hers, interlacing their fingers and seeking for a very familiar, very welcomed heat. Though she had never voiced her thoughts on the matter to _anyone _– not even to Santana, though she somehow believed that was the main reason she hadn't wanted the girl to know – she had though, _sometimes, _about how it would feel to have a soulmate, someone to completely understand her and feel her pain, share her happiness, to complete her _love_. She wasn't naïve enough to blindly believe in clichéd things like that, but she was still ingénue _enough_. Nobody could fault her for fantasizing in silence about something she had been given the notion of since she learnt how to speak. Looking at her left, her eyes meeting with the impossibly beautiful sight of Santana with her eyes closed and a completely relaxed expression, she let her mind wander to places she knew she wouldn't allow ever again. Squeezing her hand, she smiled timidly when black eyes bore through hers, as beautiful smile present there.

"I programmed our schedule in your cell phone. You just have to hit 'notes' and everything will show up." Smiling at the smaller girl's unnecessary words – _she _had been the one to plan everything in that schedule, for God's sake – she nodded her head, her white teeth baring for the girl in front of her.

"Yeah, I know. How could I _not, _when you monopolized my damn phone for almost a _whole_ day," she teased, moving their hands to her lap as a sign on peace. God, if only she could take Rachel with her.

"Better safe than sorry, señorita Lopez," Rachel sing sang in answer. Rolling her eyes, the Latina changed the hand holding Rachel's in order to put her right arm over the brunette's shoulders, bringing her as close as the seatbelts allowed. Sighing, Rachel lolled her head back until it was resting on a toned shoulder, her eyes slipping closed as she savored the feeling of soft fingers kneading her hand, the intimacy in that simple gesture wonderfully obvious for anyone who could have seen it.

"…like I've been locked out of heaven…"

Smiling at the soft sound of Santana's voice, Rachel moved her hand to grab Santana's, interlacing their fingers on her chest.

"Keep singing," she murmured, squeezing her hand encouragingly.

"Mmm, nah. Don't feel like it."

_Liar. _

"Won't you sing for me?" Urged the childish voice, her smile turning passive as she snuggled more comfortably against Santana's side.

"No."

"Aw, come on."

It was obvious by that point that Santana was just teasing Rachel judging by the way she unconsciously mouthed the lyrics to the song currently playing lowly on the car's radio. The petite girl stopped trying after the third rejection though, just humming under her breath and gently tapping her fingers on a bigger hand.

"I like it better when _you_ sing."

Surprised at the words – well, not at the _words _themselves, but at the sudden concession – the girl stopped her digits' motions, shuffling a little to be able to see Santana's face which was currently facing the car's window. Sometimes she just felt like pinching herself, because she loved how devastatingly _sweet_ the girl would become at the most unexpected of times.

"I like it better when you sing, too," she rebutted, moving the hand hanging from her shoulder she was holding and pressing it to her lips.

* * *

"We're gonna check these in," Mr. Lopez offered as he pointed to the two heavy looking cases Santana had managed to get everything necessary into. Squeezing her daughter's arm, Maribel smiled before taking one of the suitcases and heading for the check-in spot of the airline with her husband in tow. Checking her watch, Santana turned to face Rachel, who looked like she was recreating her future clandestine escapades for when she was a huge Broadway star.

"Q said she and Britt'd be here in twenty minutes or so," the Latina announced to no one in particular, seeing as Rachel didn't look very interested in her words right now.

"I need to start looking for strategic spots where I can look surprised though stylish whenever the paparazzi manage to sneak between my security guards." Looking enthralled, the girl closed her eyes and breathed deeply as if trying to communicate with the airport itself. Santana for her part was used to that kind of behavior – seriously, nobody had weirder friends than her –, but it didn't stop her from cracking up like a maniac the moment Rachel's eyes snapped open and she breathed out '_the toilets!_'

"Midget! Wait up!" Santana called out when Rachel sprung into action, letting her feet guide her to the only bathroom in the Columbus airport she remembered passing by. Running into a few people walking through the central until she finally caught up with the girl, she only received a determined smile when she grabbed her forearm and slid her hand down until her fingers interlaced with Rachel's. Tugging on it to indicate Rachel they should turn to the right, they only had to walk for a minute more until they arrived to the marked door.

"Can you explain to me why we're here?" Muttered Santana as her eyes swept over the white and blue walls; surprisingly clean for such a busy place. Instead of answering, Rachel turned her head and threw a sly smile over her shoulder, walking up to the furthest stall and disappearing inside for a moment only to get out almost instantly with a disgusted expression on her face. She walked over to the cubicle right in front of that one, and Santana guessed she didn't have any problems with that one once the petite brunette stood in front of it proudly, nodding towards it. Rolling her eyes, Santana conceived her smile and strode up to where Rachel was, looking at her questioningly before entering it. Following suit, Rachel closed the door behind her, coming face to face – well, more like face to _upper chest – _with Santana, not waiting a second to surround the slim waist in front of her with her arms.

"Did we come all the way here just to _hug?_" Asked an incredulous Santana whose arms had instinctively wrapped around the smaller body. She just received a hot sigh against her collarbone in response, but in that moment it was enough.

"We came here so that I can practice my key anti-paparazzi safe havens," murmured Rachel against her, moving her head back a few seconds later without relinquishing her hold on the Latina. "You'll miss me, right?" At the confused look on Santana's face, Rachel seemed to be regretting her words before she felt a hand pushing her hair back and away from her face, that touch all she needed to regain her confidence. "I mean when you're away, meeting new people and making new friends. You won't have to take care of me anymore-" "Okay, hold up. What's all that crap you're spitting out, Rach?" Raising her hands from their spot at her lower back, Santana cupped bony cheeks, tilting a vulnerable face upwards until their eyes were boring directly into each other's. "First of all, I did _not _take care of you, 'kay? You were always much more mature and self-sufficient than most people my age, so don't try that crap with me," she scolded at the protest she practically saw forming in Rachel's lips. "_Secondly,_" she punctuated with a soft tap of her thumb on her cheek, "how could think for a _moment _that I'd forget you?" The tone in her voice showed the clear disbelief of the statement she was uttering, her eyes looking too dark and too pained for Rachel to stand, so she broke the contact, focusing on the lips in front of her instead.

Running her hand once again through Rachel's mane, Santana searched for something on the brunette's face; any indicative that she hadn't really though Santana would fall that low, that she didn't expect herself to be forgotten so easily, but her face was unreadable. After a few moments of silence only interrupted by a random toilet being flushed and left, Santana closed her eyes, remembering that Quinn and Brittany would soon arrive to the airport.

Sighing, she tilted her head back. "We should go back now." "No." The determined yet timid voice stung her, but she kept her eyes closed and her stance as rigid as before.

"Why did we come here, Rach? Please, do _not _start with the paparazzi shit again." A beat of silence passed.

"I wanted to be alone. With you, I mean."

Furrowing her brow, Santana opened her eyes and tilted her head down. "We're in a public airport's toilets, Rachel. We _can't _be alone." Looking up, Rachel doubted for a moment before she decided to move her head forward, letting her breath hit Santana's lower neck. Running her hands down her back and around her sides, Rachel spread her fingers, feeling every bump and contraction of Santana's muscles beneath her own skin. Her hands were putting light pressure on her sides, and Santana saw herself forced to drop her hold on the smaller girl, who got closer as her elbows bent between them; her fingers mapping out Santana's ribcage in her tight red dress – the one that fit her like a second skin and felt even better. Curling her fingers, she dragged her hands up between a pair of supple breasts, skimming the pad of her digits over her collarbone and finally curling around the back of her neck, staying securely there. Santana for her part had stopped breathing the moment Rachel's fingers fanned out, admiring her and drinking her in like two lovers getting reacquainted after a long and torturous separation. It had felt like hell and paradise and like everything good she _wasn't _supposedto feel, and as she gripped protruding hipbones and pushed them impossibly close to her own she wondered if something so _good_ and simultaneously so _bad _could be real.

"God Santana," murmured Rachel as her lips ghosted over Santana's chin, feeling the heat radiating underneath her hands and her belly and _everywhere. _"You have been _everything _from the moment you walked in." Inhaling sharply through her nose, Santana tightened her grip on her hips, her hands sliding slightly to her back until she was cupping her hipbones. That fucking _voice _had never sounded so wonderfully enticing and sinfully dangerous as in that moment. "You were like the _mother_ I had been missing forever," she continued, and the word felt like a stab right on Santana's chest, the pain making her eyes twitch. "Like a _sister _I knew I'd never have," God fucking_ dammit _Rachel. Please stop. _Please. _"But you _are_ a friend too, my _best_ friend. The first person I could really confide in aside from my fathers." Voice cracking and fingers digging painfully on Santana's neck, she managed to keep her tears at bay when she felt full lips pressing against her hairline. "And what if…what if I lose it _all_?" She finally croaked out, breathing hastily out when Santana's hands pushed her firmer against her body.

"I can live without a mother, and I can live without a sister. I know I can. But…how am I supposed to live without _you?_" Pulling her head back forcefully, Rachel searched Santana's dark pools of sorrow and pain, looking pleadingly at her as if she had the solution to her problem. By the shimmering in Santana's eyes, it was obvious she didn't.

"I don't know Rach. I honestly don't know, and I don't fucking know what to say because I don't know how I'll manage to go on without _you_ either." Looking into Rachel's eyes as she desperately tried to grasp something that would help her _survive, _she noticed the closeness present in that moment between the two of them. Looking down, she was fast enough to catch a glimpse of a tongue wetting dry lips; from anticipation or by force of habit she didn't know nor did she care. She just- She just…

Feeling wet eyelashes fluttering closed against her cheeks, Santana pressed her lips against Rachel's, just letting them rest there for a moment before the anxiety of their situation caught up with them. Sighing into the kiss, she slid her hand up a petite back until she reached a slender neck, grabbing it proprietarily before moving her lips once again. Opening her mouth, she sucked on Rachel's bottom lip, feeling the brunette's doing the same with her upper one. Breathing through her nose, the Latina could only smell that magic essence Rachel owned that made her lightheaded each and every time she inhaled it.

Tilting her head to the right to deepen the kiss, she had to stifle a pleased sound at the back of her throat when Rachel's nails racked down her neck until they were resting where it met her shoulders. Tangling her own hand in Rachel's head she moved it purposefully, pushing her mouth against Rachel's with such force the smaller girl had to take a step backwards, followed suit by the Hispanic girl. Soon enough the passionate kiss turned into a much slowed down version, being replaced by pecks and gentle lip locks until Santana managed to gather enough willpower to completely pull back. Breathing raggedly, she pressed her forehead against Rachel's and moved the hand resting on her hips up to caress the side of her face tenderly.

Inhaling deeply, she managed a weak smile. "Now we both have something we won't forget," she murmured, her smile widening when Rachel nodded her head jerkily.

"I wouldn't have forgotten you anyway."

* * *

"Don't you _dare_ butt-calling me while you're doing the nasty with some chick with a dubious reputation, got it?"

"You can go choke on a dick, Fabray."

Hugging each other affectionately, both girls swayed sideways for a moment before breaking apart, an affectionate smile on both their faces.

"My turn!" Jumping from her spot beside Quinn, Brittany pulled Santana in her arms and lifted her off the floor before she had time to properly warp her arms around her friend.

"God Britts! You should warn or something," she laughed once she was safely on the ground again, straightening her dress and getting rid of inexistent wrinkles. Smiling crookedly, Brittany just replied "Lord Tubbington likes surprises."

Smiling, she looked over to her parents, to whom she had already said goodbye to, as well as the petite brunette standing by their side. She wouldn't ever admit it, but she had let a couple tears escape her eyes when she buried her face into her mom's hair. Looking up when her flight's number was announced through the speakers, she shrugged her shoulders non chantingly, a big watery smile adorning her face.

"I didn't want to admit this, but I might miss you. A little, and at _some _point." She teased. Watching Rachel's face crumple even more than before, she stepped in front of her and pulled her into a hug, murmuring a couple of '_I love you_'_s _against her scalp before finally letting go. She was pleasantly surprised to discover that her urge to cry wasn't as big as expected, so she plastered a wide grin on her face.

"We love you _so _much, mija," her father spoke up, making her smile broaden impossibly.

"You're just only saying that cuz' you want me to say it back," the teenager accused, but not even ten seconds had gone by when she told her parents that she loved them too. _Typical_ Santana.

"We're gonna miss you so much, San," Brittany conceded once Santana looked ready to take off. Quinn made a strange mix between a nod and a shrug, and Santana took it as a good sign.

"Come on guys, you can't continue doing this. Are you all going soft on me or what?" In that moment the last call for her flight was being announced and she turned her head nervously to her assigned terminal before facing her _family _again. "I guess this is it, no?" She asked rhetorically.

"Just remember to eat all your food, and don't go out without a coat on, okay señorita?" Her mom provided, laughing at her daughter and shooing her when she made to reply. Smiling brightly once again, Santana swept her gaze over the people she loved the most – 'God Rachel, _I fucking love you' – _before she turned around and started walking towards her terminal.

Once she got into that plane the old Santana would be gone, and a new, _improved _Santana Lopez would be created. That simple thought was the one that kept her from getting on her knees and beg her parents to let her stay – with them, with _her._


	7. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Glee**

**Thank you Korri, for your never-ending amazingness. **

**Just a short chapter to get re-located. Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

The wind blew across her face, making her hair curl and lash around her while she watched the park in front of her, full of life and activity. Soft cries of joy and happiness reached her ears, and she tucked her shirt under her thighs on the bench she was sitting at. Sighing, she kept her cold hands underneath her calves, warming them up from the spring-like atmosphere that had settled on Lima over the past two months. Looking down at the phone resting forlorn on her lap she let a bitter smile curl up her lips. It seemed like the sky was set on matching her mood.

Sighing again, she only looked up from her lap when a timid hand touched her shoulder, coming face to face with one of her only _remaining_ friends.

"Rachel? Why are you here on your own?" Inquired Tina, her hand retracting immediately at the cold look she received. Smiling somewhat uneasily at her friend, Rachel shook her head a little, getting rid of all the thoughts clouding her mind just a moment ago and trying to soften her expression for the sweet girl's sake.

"Oh, hello Tina. I hadn't realized you were here." She looked up at the grey sky, wetting her lips as she crossed her ankles under the bench. "I was just…thinking, I guess," she continued at the searching look Tina directed at her. Nodding her head, the dark haired girl looked around for a moment before taking a seat by Rachel. Gripping the edge of the metal, Tina bit her lip, and Rachel closed her eyes pensively.

Clearing her throat, Tina spoke. "Are you okay?" A beat of silence passed, where Rachel didn't even acknowledge the question. Not deflating, the paler girl looked at the park in front of them, letting the sight wash over her like a wave before she reopened her mouth. "I mean, you haven't been so quiet since…well, ever," she chuckled softly, smiling when she received a curt smile instead of an affronted expression. "You haven't had lunch with us for a week, and now you are… why are you really sitting here?" To say the truth, Tina had been crazy worried about the smaller girl for a while now, but she hadn't seen the right occasion to act on her suspicions. For days, _weeks, _Rachel had been acting strangely – in a Rachel Berry scale, missing a Glee practice _was _strange, let alone _two – _and her friends - Tina and Mercedes to be more specific - suspected that maybe a certain Latina had something to do with her recent behavior. That's why both girls had thanked the heavens when the tiny brunette had subtly left the Glee kids' gathering going on in Mercedes' house, and had decided that it would be better to only have Tina talk with Rachel in order to not alert the rest of teenagers.

"I already told you. I needed to think, and I wasn't being granted that privilege with the whole club talking and being _unnecessarily _loud around me." Frowning at the dark tone of voice the girl was using, she let the irony of the statement pass her by. Eyeing the forgotten cell phone resting on a plaited skirt, Tina's frown deepened. She just wanted to help the singer, but there was no way she could do that without being incredibly vague or painfully direct.

"Rachel," she began softly, starting to dislike how annoyingly desperate she was sounding, "Do you want to talk?" Tina didn't look away when Rachel's eyes bore through hers, brown and deep and pained, and looking like they were waiting for something that wasn't going to happen.

"I am known for my conversational skills, right?" Murmured Rachel in a tone that would have resulted comical in any other occasion, but that just seemed resigned to the taller girl.

"Isn't that great?" Joked Tina, nudging her with her shoulder. "So…"

"We haven't talked in two weeks." Murmured Rachel, interrupting Tina and erasing her next sentence from her mind. "Isn't that great?" She repeated in hopes of lightening the mood once the bomb had been dropped.

Confused, the girl beside her frowned. "What do you mean? We talked yesterday. And the day before yesterday. And-" "_No._" Cut off Rachel, her voice suddenly sounding strained and forced in a low whisper. Curling her fingers underneath her thighs, Rachel took in a shaky intake of breath.

"I just don't understand," she croaked, shaking her head at the bitter sound of Santana's voice inside her head repeating that same thing over and over all that time ago when she accepted St. James' date. Tina scooped over a little, bringing her arm up behind the brunette and perching her hand on her shoulder, squeezing encouragingly. "We had everything planned – _everything!_ And she goes- and-" tears are already spilling down her rounded cheeks, and Tina can actually feel her heart breaking in pieces. When had been the last time she had seen Rachel cry? She didn't remember, but she had to admit that, even in her state of distress and with her face marked by tear tracks, she still managed to look majestically stoic. It was one of Rachel's more admired qualities, and in the back of her head, the thought that if _that _was how she coped with her own pain, her acting skills should be _astonishing_ kept on resonating.

"I'm sure she has a good reason for not calling, Rache. She's been there for two months; she's still getting used to everything that's changed in her life. Give her time."

Inhaling wetly, she pulled her hands from their shelter and raised her arms. "I have! In two weeks she's only called _twice. _You don't know what that means. For me, at least." She whispered the last part, her voice broken and raspy from keeping too much inside and releasing it all in one burst. "She _promised _she wouldn't forget me, she did!" She was starting to look positively hopeless to the other girl, who could only squeeze her shoulder and bring her other hand to hold Rachel's, closing her fingers around the Jewish girl's.

"She hasn't forgotten about anything; you know changes are hard."

Rachel sniffled loudly, using the back of her hand to wipe at her cheeks. "I know that, I'm certainly _not _that stupid," she rasped out, smiling weakly at Tina's attempt to soothe her. That girl truly was an angel, and every minute they spent together was a blessing. "It's just that…we had this _connection_, you know? This unbreakable bond," she continued, swaying her joined feet underneath the bench, "And now it feels like she's maybe ready to _move on,_" her tone was heartbreaking, colder than the chilling wind that had started blowing around them, "And I'm _not._"

* * *

"Okay guys. Pack your things, enjoy your weekend and don't get anyone – or yourselves – pregnant."

Once Mrs. Morris dismissed them, Santana got up with her music folder pressed against her chest and her head ready to explode. It wasn't as if Mrs. Morris classes weren't interesting – 'cause they were – but there was something in Music History that just…didn't appeal to her.

Pushing her way through the group of students, she was managing to keep her elbows to herself when someone tapped her softly in the shoulder. Turning her head swiftly, she was met with the brown eyes of an extremely tall, dark-haired guy who she had seen earlier that day in class.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think we've been introduced yet." Blinking slowly, Santana's curious expression turned into a soft frown; her lips turning upwards.

"I don't think so either. Santana Lopez." She offered, gripping her folder with both hands to stop the stranger from attempting to shake her hand. The tight smile she was pulling off should have been enough information for the guy, but his level of comprehension seemed as low as his pants.

"Finn Hudson. Nice to meet you, Santana," he smiled at her while he put his hands into his jean's pockets, obviously nervous. Wow, it seemed like the boyish charm pouring off his pores didn't make him invincible. "So, huh, I was wondering," he started, a light stutter almost imperceptibly tainting his words, "Would you like to like, hang out with me and some friends? After class?" _Damn. _His voice sounded so hopeful, and he genuinely looked like a nice _enough _guy…besides, she needed more friends than what her roommate could provide her. Biting the inside of her cheek to prevent a grin from taking over, she nodded her head, hesitantly at first, until his eyes lit up with recognition and a shit eating smile broke along his face.

"Yeah, why not? I could actually use some new friends in the big city," she joked, hoping that Finn wouldn't catch the melancholic inflection in her voice. Sighing when he just smiled wider, they said their goodbyes and exchanged phone numbers before parting for their next classes. Her phone weighted like a brick inside her pocket, but she opted for letting it rest there because she was positive that the metal would burn her skin.

* * *

She didn't even make it to her fourth class of the day without having to run to the restrooms in a haze; books forgotten on the lid of a toilet as she sat on the polished ground, gripping her cell phone tightly in her hands, the weak light strong enough to still imprint the image of Rachel on her retinas; her thumb hovering shakily over the picture and the number underneath. _Again. _

No.

_No._

She wasn't going to call _now, _when the pain seemed to have grown to immeasurable proportions, just to be reminded once more about what she was trying to run away from. She wasn't going to do it. She couldn't.

She _couldn't. _

_…right?_


End file.
